Thrall
by Dorminchu
Summary: Necessity is the mother of invention. Human cruelty is boundless, when left unchecked. Lucy adapts the only way she knows how.


_a/n: April Fools is_ long _-since over, which means I can get back to the heavy stuff._

 _In what might turn out to be a controversial decision on my end, I changed the names of_ … _well, just about every nameless character that is not Lucy. Because I'm not an expert on Japanese, and I'm not in the mood to be branded a weeaboo on account of my own ignorance, the names I picked are not Japanese. If you don't like it, by all means, go write your own fic._

 _Plus, Elfen Lied, the original source material, didn't bother to give the school bullies names or characteristics. I decided to do so, and therefore changed a lot of these characters entirely. Why keep the names if they're not really the same character to begin with?_

* * *

"We've got to do something to get that fever down."

Lucy's eyes flutter. One of the school nurses, nameless and bland-faced, is by her side. From the moment he stepped inside the room he has been tense, as if he's caring for a wild animal instead of a child.

"Is that girl sick again?"

The second nurse is a female, sallow, with high cheekbones and thin black hair pulled in a bun. Lucy knows that she does not like the other children, that she would rather be out drinking with friends and old, attractive businessmen. "I wish she'd give me a break," she gripes, "I had plans to go out after this."

The quieter nurse bites his tongue, but does not reply as his companion continues to ramble; Lucy does not mistake this silence for sympathy.

"She's creepy and not childlike at all. And I wonder what those horns on her head are. None of the other children want to share a room with her."

When they speak of her, and if they do, it's always as _the girl_ or some other, less personal descriptor; never Lucy.

Quiet Nurse retrieves the rag from her damp forehead, dipping it again and wringing it out, before placing it back upon fevered skin. All his actions are mechanical.

Time passes behind closed eyes and the daze of sickness. Lucy does not know how long she has slept when she is woken. Someone is sitting her up.

"We need to change your clothes and sheets. Can you sit up for me?"

It's the quiet nurse from before. Groggily, Lucy obeys. She remembers being led across the room, into the hall and then a small wooden tub. Stripped and washed, right there in the tiny room, with a cake of soap and a scratchy towel. Her horns poke out against her damp pink hair—little nubs, barely developed—and when the nurse tries to touch them Lucy shrieks and covers herself on instinct. Dropping to the floor, still damp from the wash and weak from fever, she can only cower.

The nurse tries to coax Lucy up from the floor but she will not budge, palms clasped firmly over her head.

"Don't touch me," she whimpers, over and over, "don't touch me, don't touch me…."

The nurse seems to falter, perhaps not wanting to cause any trouble, or maybe he just wants to put as much distance between herself and this strange, crying child.

The next thing Lucy remembers is waking up in bed to the voice of the same nurse: "Your fever's gone down, but you should try and rest, for now. If you need anything, I'll be over in the next room."

Lucy blinks, staring up at the ceiling, unsure how much time has passed. Maybe it was a dream. She can't be certain.

* * *

In a few days, Lucy is well enough to walk. Enough, in fact, that the very first thing she does is try to go outside.

"Not 'til you've eaten something," says Sallow Nurse.

Lucy eats her meal in silence, scowling at the light.

The window adjacent to the bed is drawn ajar to flush out the stink of sickness, letting fresh air seep in. It's so close she can taste it.

It's not enough to be near. She wants to be outside.

For now, she'll wait. Allow herself to be dressed and put to bed again, but she can't sleep. So she bides her time, knowing Sallow Nurse will leave, not really caring about her absence as much as getting in trouble. And once she is gone, Lucy gets up carefully, discarding the sheet and pushing up the window, creeping outside into the bright sunshine.

* * *

Lucy goes to the school graveyard, because not even adults want to go there in the daytime.

The air is colder than the sun's rays and she's shivering, arms crossed, clasping her shoulders. Maybe she'll get sick again.

Lucy isn't well, much as she wants to believe otherwise. Every step becomes a struggle. Her head is pounding, her limbs are weak.

She's going to faint if she keeps on going. Dropping slowly to her knees, there's no point in resisting.

On her side, now, curled up into a ball. The earth feels nice against her feverish skin. She's shuddering with cold, but she thinks she could close her eyes and fall asleep right here.

A whimper reaches her ears. She rolls over and finds a tiny dog staring back at her. Its fur is brown, short and matted, its eyes are dark and wary. It hasn't run away.

Lucy blinks. The dog yips, nosing at her cheek.

"Are you worried about me…?"

Woozy, she sits up, reaches over to stroke the tiny animal's head, down its back. Its tail wags enthusiastically.

"I'm used to being by myself," Lucy admits. "I'm not lonely."

She considers the lie. Frowns slightly.

"I'm not lonely," she repeats, laying back down and letting the dog find a new home in her arms.

* * *

In another day she's well enough to go to school, but it's hard to concentrate on class. She just sits there, mostly, trying not to look small until it's lunchtime.

The quiet nurse has provided her a small bag, to get back on her feet. A simple little meal to hide away inside, nothing fancy.

She won't be eating today. Tomas—who's small for his age, with dark hair and a callous, sharp smile—gets to her first.

Lucy's come to expect these visits; human cruelty thrives in opportunity and the absence of a watchful eye.

Tomas is flanked by two more classmates. He looks at her for a moment, studying her posture, the passive slant of her shoulders. She hides behind her messy bangs, but watches as he produces a bottle full of white liquid, pours it out all over her bag.

She does not react. A small smirk curls his mouth.

"What happened to your bag? Somebody poured milk on it. It smells really gross."

It's still fresh. It won't be for long, in the stuffy classroom. That should make her angry, this pretended ignorance when he's still got the bottle in his hand, taunting her. But Lucy's tired, still recovering from being sick. She doesn't want to fight.

"Hey! H-he asked you a question."

That's Jamie, a blonde boy with nervous eyes and restless, brittle fingers. He's not as vicious as Tomas, nor as cunning, but he still clings to him. There's safety in numbers.

Tomas is impatient as well as cruel. He grabs her little shoulders and shoves her to the ground, parting her company with the chair. Her side crashes into the desk before hitting the floor; it hurts twice as much.

Jamie chuckles nervously. Tomas is grinning sharp when he speaks:

"They talk about you, the adults. I heard about it. You were found abandoned in a thicket, right? Is it because you look like a devil?"

Lucy won't give in. She scowls. Trying to get up, he kicks her back down. She cries out at last, can feel the bruise blooming on her chest. Jamie makes a face like he's about to flinch then stops himself.

"No!" says Tomas sharply. "Stay down."

Sam just stares at her. Like he's waiting for her to do something.

"You didn't answer me," Tomas continues. "Are you the child of a demon or what? Why d'you have those little horns on your head?"

He grabs her by the hair and she shrieks in pain. Drawn up hard, hard enough that she feels something tear from her scalp.

"See?" Addressing the other two. "Look at her, she has—"

The door opens. Someone yells: "Teacher! Tomas is bullying again!"

Tomas lets her drop, turning in anger. "Crap! Get out of here!"

He shoots Lucy a scathing glance, like this is her fault. Jamie won't look back. Sam pauses to look at her, and then follows the other two out.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves, picking on a girl!"

It's a girl's voice. She has brown hair, brown eyes, like a doe. She creeps over to Lucy, tentative in her approach. "Hey, are you all right?" A helping hand is offered, and Lucy takes it. The girl has already moved on. "Oh, no. There's milk all over your bag. That boy is so mean!"

"Everyone in this place is unhappy," says Lucy quietly.

She thought she wouldn't be heard, but the girl must have heard what she said because she frowns. "Huh?"

"Since they're unhappy, they're probably looking for someone worse off than they are," Lucy elaborates. She grabs her bag off the table and leaves the room.

"Hey, hold on!"

Hand closes around the strap on Lucy's bag, tugging her back. She wheels around and the girl is behind her.

"Let me help you."

Lucy sizes the girl up, tense. There's no ill-will in her eyes. She's almost frightened.

Lucy thinks about that; someone else is frightened of _her._ But she relaxes her grip on the bag, letting it fall into the hands of the girl.

* * *

Together, by the old sinks with thick tubs and cold water, they stand, unaccompanied by an adult. The girl has a name—Cassie—and she has rinsed the last of the milk out, and now sets to drying the bag with a rag.

"Hopefully it'll be okay." She turns to Lucy with a little smile. "You don't have to be alone all the time, you know. If you have a problem, you can tell me anything. I'll help you for sure."

Lucy looks at her in astonishment. When Cassie beams, she averts her eyes again, her face hot, but not from shame.

* * *

That night, long after dinner and a short while before "lights-out", Lucy is fumbling with the frame of her window again. When she finally pushes it up it screeches and she stops, struggling to keep still.

Maybe she shouldn't be so careful. No one will come for her.

Once out, she's barefoot. Her naked legs are pale in the light of the moon.

Beyond the trees, in the graveyard, the puppy is waiting for her, little red tongue extended, its tail beating the air furiously. She smiles.

Crouching down, she holds out her hand. Within it lies a crumpled roll from tonight's dinner. Crumpled, because she was clutching it so tightly she can feel bits of bread caked beneath her nails. It's a little sweaty and she feels bad about that. But the dog doesn't care. It falls upon the gift ravenously, licking her palm to be sure there's no more.

Lucy is tired, but she can't help grinning. "You were really hungry, weren't you?"

The dog whimpers, snuffling at her hand.

"Sorry, I don't have anything else for you to eat."

Her own stomach gurgles. She can feel her throat go all tight like she's about to cry, but she keeps it back.

"I guess half of my lunch isn't really enough," she mumbles, stroking the dog's head again. It worms its way into her lap, settling between her knees.

Something else occurs to her. The window of the school glints softly in the moon's light. She cups the dog's muzzle, and points over towards the building.

"Hey. Even if you get really hungry, never go over there. They'll bully you, too."

The puppy turns its little head to look up at her. Lucy scowls.

"If I was stronger, I could protect you."

Curled up, she starts to tremble.

 _If only I was stronger._

* * *

 _Pain. In her stomach at first, but it's spreading all over. It's not a hot pain like being burnt, nor is it sharp and numb like being frostbitten. It's just_ there _, a throbbing discomfort beneath the skin, muscle-deep._

 _Her hands are not her own. Opaque and slender. They exist without occupying a physical space. She can't touch them, but she can control them._

 _There is light above. Maybe that's what woke her up. She reaches out and the hands stretch on limbs, no muscles or bones to support them, taking on a consistency similar to taffy._

 _She closes her eyes. Smiles._

* * *

Lucy wakes up and she's lying in her bed, inside. The window is closed, and her visit with the dog could have been a dream.

But when she looks ahead, what does she see?

Handprints. Muddy, smeared and smooth, all over the wood, fingers splayed as though to cover as much surface as possible. She sits up and finds more. All over the sheets, the walls and floor and ceiling.

The window is the only surface that remains untouched.

* * *

Today, Lucy is a little more upbeat. She doesn't talk to anyone, but she stands a little straighter, hums to herself during lessons.

She feels so good, in fact, that as soon as lunch starts, she finds Cassie and taps her on the shoulder.

"What is it?"

"There's something I want to tell you…."

* * *

"No way! You have a dog?"

Lucy shushes her, her eyes narrowed. The girl claps her hands over her mouth, looking guilty.

"Sorry. Are you worried about Tomas?"

Lucy doesn't acknowledge this, just stares at the open door leading into the hall adjacent. Nothing happens. Probably no one heard, but….

"Don't worry," says Cassie brightly. "I'll share my lunch too. I always leave some anyway."

* * *

Next time they are outside and unaccompanied, Lucy brings the girl along with her to the graveyard. It's an easy path to traverse; she could probably do it in her sleep.

She's a little worried the dog won't take kindly to another person, but to her delight, there's no trouble.

"Wow, he's cute!" Cassie exclaims.

All Lucy says is: "Don't tell anyone about this."

Cassie nods eagerly. "Okay, I won't tell anyone! Don't worry."

* * *

Class is over for the day. Lucy is alone again. It's not that she really likes to be the last to leave the room—not where Tomas and his gang are concerned—more that she's just content to be in her own skin for a change, taking things at leisure. It doesn't come naturally.

There's a vase over on the desk where the teacher usually sits, filled with white lilies. She can't say what about it catches her eye, but she finds herself staring for longer than is necessary.

"Hey!"

Scowling, she turns around to see—who else?—Tomas in the doorway. He's alone, which is both odd and unnerving. Where are the other kids? Where's the teacher?

"You think you're pretty smart, don'cha? Well, you're not smart enough."

He's smirking in a nasty way.

A strangled yelp cuts through the air, commanding her attention. In lumbers Sam, Jamie close behind. Sam's clothes and skin are dirty, and he's sporting a few marks that look suspiciously like bite-marks, but he's holding his prize—the dog—by the scruff of the neck. Lucy is almost blind with panic, on her feet.

Sam's a big kid. He can restrain her and handle the dog with both hands, no problem.

"Where do you think you're you going?" Tomas jeers.

"Let me go! Stop it!" she cries out. Where is the teacher?

"Wow. I've never seen you this upset before," Tomas muses. "You must really like that dog."

"He's right. You don't laugh. You don't cry. You're really creepy!" Contrasting Tomas, Jamie's speech is rapid and uneven. His eyes keep darting towards the door as though in anticipation of the teacher's return.

Sam lifts the dog up slowly, but there's no kindness in his expression. Tomas is high on the thrill of control.

"Okay, so. How much does the puppy mean to you? You gotta tell me. And if you don't sound convincing enough, I'll make sure the puppy does the crying for you."

Lucy won't play this game. There's no victory in it.

Sam grunts as she elbows him hard in the stomach. He stumbles back, but she's free—not for long. Sam drops the dog and catches her wrists, twisting both her arms behind her back hard enough to sprain something. His eyes are dark with anger.

Tomas has moved on to other pursuits.

"Hey, why don't we teach the dog a lesson for her?"

He comes up and kicks the dog, hard—hard enough to send it flying into the wall. It shrieks in pain and surprise, crashing to the floor, quivering and stunned with impact. Lucy can't do much but look on in horror. Desperate, she struggles against Sam's arms but it's pointless.

"Ha! Yeah, that's great." Tomas is beaming.

"You. Hold her."

It's Sam.

"What?" asks Tomas snappishly.

"Said you want to teach her a lesson. I'll do it. Give me the dog."

Tomas raises his eyebrows. "Huh? What'd you have in mind?"

Sam grunts. "Take her." He shoves Lucy in Tomas's general direction. Tomas is quick to scoop her up, arms behind her back. He's not as rough as Sam but he's vicious.

Sam ambles over to the teacher's desk. Picking up the vase in one meaty hand, he dumps out the contents onto the floor.

"You—" he points to Jamie "—hold the dog down."

Jamie startles, and rushes to comply. Everyone is tense.

"Keep holding it down," Sam says coolly, brandishing the vase.

"W-wait, what?" Jamie falters. "You said we were gonna teach her a lesson."

Tomas scoffs as though disgusted. "Yeah. So?"

But his hands are clammy as they grip Lucy's arms. Trapped, Jamie bites his lip and looks away.

"Stop being a baby. She's not like us," Tomas snaps. "Do you feel sorry for her?"

"N-no!"

"Then do what Sam said."

Sam has been quiet all throughout the debate. There's a coldness in his eyes as he regards the animal beneath him. His grip on the weapon is white-knuckled, but he does not shake.

He brings it down once. The dog shrieks, and so does Lucy. Sam repeats the motion. Again, again. No pauses. Vase starts to come away bloody. Bits of flesh and brain cling to the glass. Sam doesn't even flinch.

Tomas has gone pale. Jamie is crying.

Lucy shuts her eyes tight. She won't allow herself to watch.

Another scream tears through the air. "NO!"

Cassie's voice.

"What's wrong?" asks Sam evenly, a little breathless. "You told us about the dog."

This is what makes Lucy open her eyes.

Cassie's shaking her head, trapped between the hallway outside and the carnage within the classroom, tears springing to her eyes. She claps a hand over her mouth.

"Oh god," she whimpers, "I didn't—he _made_ me tell him about us, and…"

"He isn't moving," Sam says quietly. "That was quick."

Tomas shudders; all his bravado has vanished. Jamie is inconsolable.

Numb, Lucy reflects.

 _Since they're unhappy, they probably need someone who's more unhappy than they are._

Maybe Cassie lied. Maybe she was in on the joke all this time. Maybe Tomas put her up to it. Even if he didn't mean it, it doesn't matter. He's a monster. All of them are monsters.

They could have helped it. But they didn't. Even Cassie.

A terrible grin has twisted Lucy's mouth. She knows what she will do.

These new hands do not shake, unseen by all but Lucy. They grasp all around the room. Search for a weapon. The bookcase topples as if by magic. All the other children cry out but Sam and Lucy.

Things happen fast, then, and without warning. Sam's wrists and ankles each twist upon themselves, an unnatural angle, 'til they finally snap, revealing bone and shredded flesh. He starts to howl, but Lucy leaves him there.

Jamie is lifted high and quick into the air, no time for him to scream. His whole body swings up and around with the force; there is a loud, blunt SNAP as his head impacts with the ground. He doesn't move again.

Cassie is next, screaming, but not for long. Her neck constricts with an invisible force, bruised purple. She starts to salivate, eyes bulging as she claws at the air around her. Eventually her face turns blue and her eyes roll up in her head and then she falls, tongue lolling.

Tomas stares in horror at the lifeless bodies of his classmates. Lucy gazes right at him, and the invisible hands clutch his delicate face and compress, gouging his eyes and up his nose and mouth and he can't even scream as he's torn apart from the inside out.

Sam, she saves for last. Sam, writhing around on the ground like the little worm he is. Sam, who she lets flop around until she gets sick of watching him struggle, sick of the scent of death and piss around her, and rips his body in two.

A doll wouldn't scream, Lucy thinks. Teacher can't stop her. Nobody can.

But once he stops moving, she relaxes. All is calm.

Slowly, she makes her way over to the little lump of fur upon the ground. Scoops it up, rocking back and forth as though to soothe it.


End file.
